After folding his coat over the back of a chair, Bowie sits to take off his boots. “You’re welcome to roam the grounds if you like. Catherine’s staff will have food prepared when you’re hungry. Her husband Jakob is a pleasant man. I’m sure he’ll offer you a ride if you fancy horses. He has a stable full of the majestic beasts. Big ones, fast ones, fluffy ones. You name it, Jakob has it.”
I like horses just fine, but they generally spook around me. I wouldn’t want to scare them.
Bowie rolls his stockings down shapely calves, then rises and blows out the nearest lamp. “I fear I’m stuck in this room until sundown, but please don’t let me keep you when you wake.”
Nodding, I realize I’ve been staring at him and turn my back. I kick off my shoes, take off my hat, and pull my shirt over my shoulders, but the pants I leave on. I have nothing underneath, and I don’t want to assume it’s okay to sleep naked.
When I turn around, he’s in some sort of cotton underclothes, his bare chest revealing lean muscles, flushed nipples, and no hair to speak of. He folds the bedding down and slides in.
His bed is just as large as the one in Seashore, but it’s not an island unto itself. Little tables stand on either side, each with a pile of books. There’s no great draping tent above to make one feel trapped. The bedclothes match the room, dark blue silks with fawn-brown furs atop. Bowie gestures to where I should come to rest.
“Could you snuff the last lamp, please?” asks Bowie.
I admire him in the glowing orange light before fulfilling the request. His hair looks nearly black, loose around his shoulders in pretty waves, much like his sister’s. His features are relaxed, not feigning respect like with Farkas or genuine amusement like with Ava or affection like with Cecily. He just looks tired and maybe a little nervous. Just as I am.
I snuff out the light and join him in bed. My eyes adjust quickly.
His unmistakable presence is impossible to ignore, so near to my side as I settle on my back. The pillow is like the fluffiest cloud, clean and cool under my head. The mattress too. It must be stuffed with fine feathers; it’s so luxurious. I imagine this is the sort of bed angels must sleep on—heavenly.
“You can touch me,” says Bowie, his voice low. “If you like.”
My ears flick to attention. I swallow. Touch him how? Does he want to cuddle, or is he asking for more?
When I don’t respond or move, he continues, “I mean, if that’s what you’re used to. I’m sorry. I’ve never had a sleepover with a werewolf before. I’m trying to be considerate, not…however that came out.”
A breath passes through my lips. Touch Bowie. Hold him as we sleep. I want to now that the option is there. It would feel natural, but somehow it also feels dishonest because what might be true for other werewolves has never been true for me.
“The others kicked me out from their beds when we were still cubs,” I explain. “What you’ve learned of wolves is correct for most. They’re communal sleepers, but I usually sleep alone.”
“Usually?”
“Well, I have Ava. I was still a child when I first moved in, and she coddled me until I was strong enough to be by myself.” I hesitate, unsure whether revealing this next part will make me seem weak. I don’t care. “But if I’m sick or have a nightmare, I can still curl up to her. Back to back so I know I’m safe.”
“Ah, we should all be so lucky,” says Bowie, making me glad I chose to share. “Well, the offer stands. I promise not to bite.”
I laugh. “The vampire promises not to bite.”
“Unless you ask nicely.”
“And if I ask meanly?”
“Then I shall withhold my sharp kisses until you learn some manners.” Bowie shifts under the covers, rolling onto his side to face me. “I cannot be seen to reward bad behavior. Then what would you think of me?”
“I’ve no idea what to think of you,” I say to the ceiling. “You aren’t anything like what I would have expected.”
“What did you expect?”
I consider that. Vampires were the subject of scary stories passed from the older cubs to frighten the younger ones. “I thought vampires were monsters. Killers in the night, stealing human blood and leaving a trail of corpses in their wake. But you…”
“But me?”
“You tease your sister and dote on your niece. You live in their house, not in a coffin, and you invite mongrel werewolves into your bed, then worry if you’ve offended them.”
“Just the one,” he quips.
“I stand corrected.”
“Are there others like you?”
